The 73rd Hunger Games
by Frances Odair
Summary: Perrie is a regretful tribute in the Hunger games, surrounded by mysteries and secrets as she tries to survive. She needs to obtain the information being concealed from her, and fast, or her life will be in severe danger. Rated K plus for a bit of violence to come.
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, I know, I got halfway through careers don't cry then suddenly started The story of Lily Evans, and now there's this one... But I'm going to continue with this, see it all the way through, THEN finish my other stories. Promise!**

Chapter 1:

I watch the District One escort as she skips across the stage, on which she will decide the fate of two very, very, fortunate people. As she speaks, I don't notice the shouts and calls of onlookers, the rustling of the paper in the girls' bowl, or the excited chattering of the others in the seventeen year old section. All I notice is the words that bounce off every house in the town square, echo until they reach the ears of everyone waiting eagerly to hear them.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish you a happy 73rd Hunger games! Let the reaping begin!"

Ear-splitting noise numbs my ears. Waving limbs almost prevent me from seeing that one movement that my future depends on. Then, its over. The slip is chosen. The name is announced.

"Silver Brook!"

My heart beats fast. Silver Brook is only fourteen - someone will need to take her place if District hopes for a good chance of producing a victor. I'm only seventeen, I'll have another chance to volunteer next year, but... Sometimes temptation is too great.

"I volunteer!" The words slip out of my mouth, and I instantly regret saying them. Waves of shock radiate through my body, creating a shudder that I desperately try to conceal as I walk to the stage.

I can feel the the sceptical eyes of everyone in the crowd before me, burning away my confidence. Redness creeps into my cheeks and I can barely hear the escort as she asks my name.

"Perrie West." I expect to mutter the words, but they come out cold and clear. I almost faint with relief.

"Our District One female tribute, Perrie West!" I can hear cheering, and smile weakly. I know I shouldn't of volunteered - in my head I'm kicking myself for doing it. I'm sure that I'm not strong enough, now I think about it, to win the Hunger Games. Yes, I've been training for most of my life. However, I was never the best, never mind the best of the best, and that's really what a winner needs to be. The realization that I'll probably be dead in a few weeks hits me hard.

"Now time to select our male tribute!"

Dizzyingly loud screams threaten to shatter the glass in windows in the surrounding area. I inwardly yell at the people uttering them, all the noise is causing me to lose my concentration. Thankfully, as the male slip is picked, all sound dies down.

"Aspen Thompson."

A tall boy extracts himself from the eighteen-year-old section. His hair is short and dark, his eyes laughing and blue. Without hearing much, I watch Aspen turn down volunteers, position himself next to me. We shake hands, and are escorted to the justice building. The peacekeepers that do so don't bother keeping a tight grip on us. It's obvious we're not going to run away. When I sit down in the velvety chair that is pushed towards me and wait for visitors, a sad thought drifts across my mind. Both my parents are one of the few people that are given consent to not attend the reaping - they both work at the power station that provides all electricity for District 1. Therefore, they won't be able to say goodbye to me. I'm reflecting on this when my older sister Sienna enters the room/my prison. She's nineteen, and not eligable for the reaping. She never trained for the games, but pretended to work at a wine-making factory for most of her teen years. Really she was flirting with all the men there and saving up for make-up and magazines. We have never been close, though she takes care of me often when our parents are absent. Frankly I will not miss her in the slightest.

"I'll make sure you have a nice funeral." Sienna drawls. I want to punch her. I'm almost about to when she grabs my fist. "Joke, Perrie. I don't want you dead, however idiotic you are." Her voice is sarcastic and sickly sweet. I'm filled with the sensation of complete irritation.

I kick the wall in frustration, only succeeding in sending a searing pain through my toe. Sienna brushes her light blonde hair, exactly the same as mine, only longer, out of her face, eyebrows raised.

"Seriously, though, don't die. I'm not kidding."

"Great advice." I spit. "I'll keep it in mind. Because it's so original and genius." I throw the chair at a wall. It's surprisingly heavy, so it only lands a few feet away from me and I end up looking foolish. A huge crash can be heard, however, and that just about satisfies me.

"Tell Ma I'll make her proud." I say, more calmly than before. "And tell Dad that I'll miss him." I wipe away a tear that's navigating its way down my cheek. Sienna nods and wraps her arms around me. This is actually the first time we have hugged in years.

"And one more thing." I whisper.

"What?" my sister is hanging on my every word.

"Don't forget to feed True."

Sienna bursts out laughing. I glower at her. Bitch. "You are obsessed with that monster!" She giggles. I think of my pet lizard, who shrinks away at the smallest noise.

"True is not a monster! She's just scared of you!"

"Of everybody! And she's violent when your not around!"

I'm just about to make a indignant reply when a peacekeeper arrives and tells us our time is spent.

"Bye, Sienna." I sigh.

"Bye, Perrie." she replies. I watch her leave, then pick up the overturned chair and sit on it. A few of my friends from school, Ruby, Shine, and her twin Glow, enter. We don't talk, just sit and hug. Shine starts to cry, which nearly sets me off again. Nearly. I don't really know what everybody has to be upset about. District 1 are meant to think the Hunger Games are great and fabulous and amusing.

"I brought this." says Ruby finally, offering me my precious anklet, that's encrusted with Peridots. Ever since I was little I planned to use it as my District token.

"Thanks." I stammer. There isn't really anything else I can say. But I feel regretful aboout my lack of words as I watch my friends leave. Over the next few minutes, hours, whatever it is, I get many visitors. Aunts, uncles and cousins, friends, classmates, neighbours, and vague acquaintances, all of them. Many bring gifts, mostly food, but also flowers, woven and real, and kind words. Most of my presents are confiscated as I am taken to the train that will take me to the capitol, but my anklet and a single daffodil I manage to keep with me. I'm surprisingly touched by how thoughtful people have been, though.

On the train, I meet my mentors, Cashmere and Gloss, who are both blonde, beautiful, and brother and sister. Gloss is assigned to Aspen, and Cashmere to me. We find an empty room on the train to talk.

"What are your weapons? What's your approach going to be? How do you plan on winning these games?" I'm bombarded with questions. Cashmere seems approving when I tell her I like using a mace and an axe, but when I mention being reasonably talented with a slingshot she seems disbelieving. At the training centre back home, they showed us a hunger games where someone used a slingshot that sent poisonous spiked balls at people to win. I trained with a slingshot ever since. I don't mention this, though, wanting to keep in my mentor's good books.

I am later pronounced as 'very cute', but it doesn't seem to be a good thing in Cashmere's eyes. I guess careers should be brutal-looking, however, I know for a fact that Cashmere won her own games by being heartbreakingly girlish and innocent to get sponsors, then sneaky to murder a dozen people. She isn't really in a position to think being sweet an unlikely tactic of success.

I'm thinking this whilst I try to control my fury, that was aroused by a sudden realization of the injustice of the Hunger Games. And maybe just a little by the fact I don't like being called cute. Also, for the first time, I'm cursing my tendency to go bright red at the slightest embarassment or anger inciting thought. I really do wish I was one of those people who kept their faces a hard, cold mask. Those who wear their heart on their sleeve, a.k.a. me, are never really of a strong personality, I've found. Which means I just don't stand a chance of surviving for even a day in the arena I'll be locked in soon. Nothing is going my way at the moment. Certainly the odds are not in my favour.

At dinner, I stuff myself with the amazing food that is set out. Sure, District 1 is known for always having enough to eat, but that doesn't necessarily mean the stuff we get is actually tasty. Mostly it's tinned things and a lot of bread, so tender steak with perfectly cooked vegetables and apple sauce, cream and peach soup with warm white loaves, and caramel cheesecake covered in warm fudge pieces is absolute heaven. I take sips of exotic fruit juices that I'm offered once I can't eat another bite.

I think Gloss and Cashmere want to discuss tactics when Aspen is finished, but 'unfortunately' it's time for the live broadcasting of the reapings. Everybody walks into a dimly lighted room where sofas and armchairs dominate every inch of room, save the spot where the flatscreen television stands. I make myself comfortable on a soft blue couch next to the window, or rather the pair of tightly closed red curtains, and wait for the reapings to begin.

I don't pay attention to my own reaping, half-closing my eyes in fear that I will look like a scared child on the screen. In fact, five sixths of the reapings I barely notice. The two I do note are the two and four ones. This is because along with me and Aspen, the tributes from those Districts will form the career pack. My life and their lives depend on us working together... to kill.

The girl from One is nothing special. Just your average career with dirty blonde hair and a strong build. The boy, however, surprises me. Many Districts, like 4, 10, and 11, are populated by people who all bear resemblance to each other. Some, like my own District, have citizens with unique looks. Two comes into the lookalike section. Most of them have pale skin, brown or blonde hair, and blue eyes. This boy, though, has dark skin, a somehow menacing afro, wears coloured leather wristbands and is covered in scary tattoos. I think his name is Tayne. Jannie, the girl, couldn't differ more from him, really.

Four's reaping is easily the most interesting out of them all. You can see towering greenish-blue waves in the background, and everyone's blonde locks shine in the sunlight, creating a magical effect. When the boy is reaped, Kent Mcbarren, I instantly like him. I like the way his soft brown eyes are warm and gentle. I like the way he walks casually yet gracefully with his hands tucked in his pockets. I like the way that he has let his brownish blonde hair grow too long, past his shoulders, and tied it back into a ponytail. I just like _h__im. _And I feel kind of disappointed knowing that if I'm to live he'll have to die.

The girl is a volunteer and a horrible surprise. This little midget is called first, and then there's silence. Too much silence. Then words, so cold, hard, unfeeling, ring throughout Four's town square.

"I volunteer." The girl, of all things, is only fifteen. But it's not shocking me that a fifteen-year-old has volunteered. It's the way that girl_ looks._ She is breathtakingly beautiful, yet not at all like the rest of District Four. I don't process her name, as my brain feels fuzzed and unfocused. Her hair is such a dark brown it's almost black, her eyes are amazingly bright, hazel with specks of gold and grey, her skin is deathly pale with perfect rosy circles on her cheeks, and her lips are full and pouty. She looks at least seventeen. Even this, though, is not what shocks me. It's her expression. Icy, closed, trapped, free of all emotion. A mask. Just what I wanted before. Concealing a broken, destroyed past.

That last thought makes me laugh at myself. Probably she's just a horrible person, not crushed and trying to prevent herself from getting hurt. I don't look forward to meeting her at all.

When Kent and the girl shake hands, I notice Kent looks like his world is coming to an end. The fact he doesn't seem quite arrogant enough to be a career occurs to me as I walk away from what I now think of as the chair room.

When enter my bedroom, Aspen is waiting for me. He disregards the sharp squeal I give when he moves out of the shadows, and seems seriously worried.

"We need to talk." He says. It honestly scares me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Not happening."

I may of had my doubts about my strength previously, but even the weakest person in Panem wouldn't consent to what Cashmere is suggesting to me. It just isn't happening.

"Absolutely no WAY."

"Sweetie, you have to if you want-" Cashmere is easily the most infuriating person in existance. And I hate the things she calls me - honey, darling, dear, sweetcheeks, cutey, and of course sweetie. I'm a career! Possible a freaking rubbish one, but either way a career. Strength and brutality and heartlessness all in one. Not sweet. And not willing to fake being a loving picture of innocence with a certain person! It just isn't happening!

"I don't have to do anything. You don't own me." There's a silence. Then, my mentor tosses her hair over her shoulder and turns her back on me.

"If that's the way your going to be then-" her voice is cut off by the sound of shouting in the next room. It's Aspen and Gloss, I think.

"So Aspen took the news even worse than you!" Cashmere says, more to herself than to me, as there is the sound of a cup smashing hits our ears. There's a final yell, the unmistakable vibration of fist hitting flesh, then nothing. I try to guess who's the victim and who's the attacker. Probably Gloss is the latter, as my District partner doesn't really seem to be a fighter (more like I don't give a damn and I never take anything seriously-er) - it only took several sharp words to get him to leave my room last night. He didn't even linger to tell me what was so important to talk about as I kicked him out. So whatever it was couldn't have been THAT important. Anyway, a few seconds later Gloss barges into the room where me and Cashmere are standing in shock.

"What'd she say about it?" he snaps, evidently in a bad mood. I have to applaud Aspen on inflicting it on him. However, all that I register is now is that 'she' has a name!

"She won't have any of it, she-" A Cashmere's words I find myself against a wall with strong hands gripping my throat.

"You think refusing'll make you seem strong, little girl?" Gloss hisses. "But let me tell you something- it's only showing _weakness-_" I do something I regret. I spit in his face. And I know that the slap that sends me off balance a moment later is the outcome of my stupid actions.

"Insolence! I won't tolerate it! Your life depends on me, so-" there's an impatient cough. Gloss turns around, frustration written all over his features, then whips back round so he's centimetres away from me.

"And Cashmere, yes. And if you don't clean up your act, sort out your loyalties, then we can be the reason you DIE. Understand?" His breath, tickling my cheek, reeks. I try not to choke.

"I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Actually, you only said underst-" I stop halfway through my words. Now probably isn't a good time to irritate Gloss with contradiction, so I backtrack and just nod meekly.

"I understand."

"Good. So, from now on, you do exactly what I-" another cough interrupts him. "YES, I GET IT! What WE tell you! Right?"

"Yes." I'm appalled at the fear in my newly quiet, almost inaudible voice.

"Glad that's sorted. I'm going to go get a drink."

Gloss storms away. Cashmere, who has turned from the most infuriating person in existance to the most wonderful woman in Panem in light of recent events, watches him go, sadly. She spots my loathing expression, and her face crumbles slightly.

"Don't- Don't judge him! The games, the games, d-destroyed, destroyed-" she runs away from me, trembling. I avoid looking at her, glance through the open door in front of me. Aspen is leaning against the doorframe.

"Gloss can be really persuasive, can't he?" he tells me, sarcastically and with huge venom in his voice. I try not to stare at the blossoming bruises on his neck and shoulder.

"Yes, very. So your my new best friend now?" I say lightly.

"No. If you were listening, ALL the careers must appear like a... What was it? Ah, a loving family. So your new best friends include that evil girl from four and the monster from two..." Aspen replies.

"But if you had a brain, you'd of noticed that it is quite a while since we will see the other tributes. So for now, it's just you and me as... new best friends."

"In your dreams."

"Trust me, my dreams do not include you, nor do I wish them to. Seriously. Oh, and the... 'monster from two' and the 'evil girl from four' might be orphanage volunteers, who donate their earnings to homeless puppies, and... knit scarves for sad children. You have never met either of them."

"But I'm observant, Perrie. Unlike you..."

"Don't call me that if you... want your teeth. Not that I would want them... if I were you." I suddenly fall to the ground, faking twitches and thrashing about.

"Perrie! Perrie - wha- what's wrong?" I've really worried Aspen.

"Nothing." I laugh, springing to my feet. "Just the thought of being YOU! Enough to give anyone a fright. Or cause them to, er... have a fit." I smile sweetly, turning and walking away before my district partner can let my jibe sink in. I decide I'll ignore him for however much of my life I've got left. And if I don't, it'll be because I'm murdering him - possibly literally.

It's sad that I can actually say that.

I shouldn't be saying that.

Only I should. If I was truly a member of District one, I definitely should. I should crave killing - crave skills, crave weapons. I should crave my beloved slingshot, my wondrous mace. I was always known for being stronger than I looked at training, and though I was, admittedly, completely hopeless with swords and spears, archery and throwing knives, I could always use one specific, medium-weight mace to my advantage. I had enough hidden strength to lift it and swing it efficiently, and enough underestimated agility to use my slight, petite figure with just a thin layer of muscle to my advantage. My ability with any slingshot came more from practise, in all honesty. One of the trainers, Karla, told me once that if I had more time before I was uneligable for the reaping, then I could become a good competitor in the games. She lingered on the word 'if'.

My eyes find the window as the train screeches to a shuddering halt.

It's time.

**Sorry about the shortness of this short chapter. I have a lot of homework. Enough said.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I'm aware that last phrase sounded dramatic. I'm also aware that a train station is not really very dramatic. But hey - a train station of freaks he can't wait to see you DIE? That is kind of dramatic.

I rest my case.

There are so many mirrors on this train I have no problem finding one, so I can smooth down my hair (so straight it doesn't need smoothing down), stand on my toes to see if it makes me look taller, and check my smile is sincere as possible. I practise different expressions until a young peacekeeper appears suddenly and drags me off the train. I recognize him.

He was the brother of a District two boy who tragically died near the end of the 72nd Hunger Games. The Capitol filmed him and his sisters as they cried at his funeral. I suppose once he was too old to take out tesserae, he was forced to train as a peacekeeper. I would feel pity for him if:

1) I wasn't the one destined to be dead in a mere week or two.

2) He would have some respect and try not to grip on me so hard he'll leave bruises.

Cashmere, with Gloss's arm thrown around her in a brotherly way, saunters out of the exit next to the one I use. She grabs my hand and holds it up, causing the capitol crowds on the station platform whoop and cheer. I want to rip my arm away, but force myself to wave with my other one instead. On my left, Aspen does the same.

Oh, the joys of the Capitol.

It really is a frightening place. There's just too much ease, not enough faces that aren't completed with a beaming smile. I think of District One, where the grey buildings decicated to training tributes are the cause of everyone's glum expressions. Because they're where everybody's taxes are sent to, where children neglect childhood for weapons and violence. It's not as disciplined as District Two, where there are complicated choosing precedures for tributes and harsh punishments, but more rigid than District Four, where I hear they have decent living space. On boats.

In the Capitol, each house could fit a District One gem factory in it. And let me tell you, those working spaces are huge. On the other hand, they are also drab, dull, unlike the shining, silvery surfaces here that practically blind me at every oppurtunity. I lust for a pair of sunglasses as I enter the remake center.

Once I'm inside, dim lighting creates a slight gloom, and I have to blink a few times until my eyes adjust and I can see properly. Cashmere and Gloss disappear down a corridor, leaving Aspen and I to be seperated and placed in different rooms.

I wait alone in mine, desperately trying to decipher the faint mutters I can hear. After more than a couple of minutes, three absurd people enter the room. They all have one thing in common - the gift of being a woman. The first, tall with wide amber eyes and what looks suspiciously like a peacock tail protruding from her back, steps forward.

"I'm Candria." Her voice is high pitched, even for a capitol citizen. "And these are my sisters, Flora..." The women she gestures to, slim and red-haired with blue lips, nods graciously. "And Diana."

Diana looks barely older than me. Young enough to be in the Hunger Games, no doubt.

"They've just started here, so forgive any mistakes they might make." I shrug in return. "You see, two of last year's Prep Team became... indisposed. So they've been replaced."

I nearly gasp, because we all know what 'indisposed' means in the Capitol.

"Oh." I say.

"So... Shall we get started?"

"Whatever."

"Uh... Right then..."

The next few hours would be commonly described as... Well, I think torture would be a suitable adjective. There's likely to be a picture of me lying right on the table I am now right next to that word in the dictionary. In the dictionary of Panem, I mean. And next to the word 'What?' it's certain to be me looking at Flora, as she asks me to strip. Which she actually does. I almost refuse, but consent in the end because the faster I do it, the faster I get to leave. Embarrased, I cross my arms over my bare chest.

"Don't be shy..." coos Candria, before backing out the room with the wax strips that she used on my legs.

"But luckily..." she had said as she ripped the first one off. "Your the least hairy tribute I've ever seen, so you'll have the least pain of them all!"

"Yay." I had muttered.

Diana, smiling, opens the door.

"This is your stylist, Theosia." she whispers shyly, exiting. The sharp voice of a middle-aged woman follows.

"But I usually get Theo. It's Perrie, right?" I nod, taking in the woman that stands before me.

Her eyes are a shrewd shade of deep reddish-brown, framed by delicate wisps of black hair, streaked with grey. I take in the tattoos, words in a language I don't understand, along her arms and thighs (revealed by the ruffled miniskirt she wears) and the dark blue eyeshadow that is applied above her eyes. For someone of at least forty, she is very beautiful.

"Thanks. No-one's ever looked at me like that before. You think I'm attractive?"

I nearly jump out of my skin.

"You can read my mind?" Theo laughs at my words.

"Nah. I could see it in your eyes. I'm good at that kind of thing."

"Too right." I mutter, discreetly shaking my head.

"So. Candria and the rest seem to have done a good job on you... But I think I'll need to adjust your hair... And of course darken the shades of your make-up to match your eyes..."

She stares at me like I'm a canvas, and she's the painter, ready to colour me in me how she pleases.

"Okay." I say, but I'm fairly sure she doesn't hear me.

"...Maybe some eyeliner would do the trick... Yeah, I think I got it sorted. You can sit down. Oh - wait, you can wear a robe."

Slipping on the garment I'm offered, I slide onto a straight-backed chair. Theo sets up a mirror in front of it, and begins to comb a light brown liquid into my hair. I watch the shade of my locks slowly darken, ever so slightly, and think it unfair that I don't get a say in the changes she's making. I feel her hands plait my hair then twist it into a bun.

"Just to keep it out of the way..." she explains.

An hour later, I am unrecognizable. I am almost _beautiful. _As I stare at my newly rosy cheeks, highlighted eyes, and full, red lips, I wish I'd had access to make-up before. And hair products, as my hair is glossy and sleek.

"Thank you." I say to Theo.

"No problem."

She leaves to fetch my outfit. I have no worries about her skill as a stylist, so I don't feel apprehensive. I am shocked and dismayed when she returns.

"Sorry." She says apologetically. "My partner designed it and I didn't have any say in the matter."

She holds a dress, a dress so short and revealing I don't see how it will lend me any modesty. An eye-catching crimson, it is backless and has a very low collar. As for the connection to District one, it has what look like real diamonds lining the hem. Letting my head fall into my hands, I suppress a groan.

"Sorry." Theo says again.

Feeling very exposed, I head down to where the chariots are waiting, in the dress and cringing because of it. When Aspen sees me, he wolf-whistles loudly, in tight trousers, a suit jacket and a lopsided bow-tie that are red, matching my outfit. I make a face at him. Chatting with Cashmere, who stands next to the chariot, is a man that would look old if it wasn't for the adjustments Capitol surgery has done on him. Pausing, his eyes size me up.

"Very nice." He nods smugly. "Of course, the dress was originally much longer than that, but when I saw you at the reaping, I shortened it immeeeediately..." Aspen sniggers at the inflection on immediately. I just blush. "And I must say, you have and excellent figure! Look at those legs!"

I try to hide behind Theo, who fixes a red flower with a diamond center in my hair, sweeping it out of my face. "Don't mind Marcus." she whispers. "I know he needs some personality changes, but he's a very talented stylist... er, most of the time." I giggle half-heartedly. "And seriously, you do look nice."

"I look slutty." I moan.

"On the bright side, have you seen what Karkalla has done with that Jannie girl?"

Turning around, I spot Jannie and gape at the strange, metallic silver jumpsuit she is wearing. Tayne looks almost as bad in his.

"Interesting." I remark.

"Very." laughs Theo. I grin at her. My smile dies, replaced with a look of wonder, when I see the District Four tributes. Kent looks attractive in his dark blue suit and white shirt, but I can't tear my eyes away from his District partner. Because they've turned her into a storm. Literally.

Her dark hair, pinned on top of her head, is clipped back with a slide that has a tiny ship, tipped as if on stormy waters, attatched to it. Dark blue patterns are stencilled on one side of her face, and her shoes are sequinned flats. It's the dress that is the most stunning, though. Black and varying shades of blue netting in floaty clouds drift from her waist, and a tight turquoise bodice ties everything together. I stare enviously at her perfectly shaped face. The overall effect is that of a roaring, screaming, tossing ocean.

However, up close, the girl isn't quite as beautiful. She is far too skinny, perhaps a stone or two from anorexic, and there are dark smudges under her eyes, already permanently present. She look weary, forlorn and miserable. Not in the way that makes you want to hug her, tell her that everything will be okay, by the way that makes you want to run away, whimpering in fright. She looks ready to kill.

As soon as she catches me looking at her, I hurriedly turn away, kind of frightened.

"Hello!" I jump in fright as an eager, gentle and distinctly male voice sounds in my ear. I whip around to see Kent McBarren.

"Hi!" I squeak. He smiles at me, like one would smile at a a younger brother or sister they love and are amused by.

"Hey. I'm Kent. District Four."

"Yeah! I know..." Kent seems delighted at my knowledge, or at least my claimed knowledge.

"And you're Penny..."

"Perrie." I correct him. A look of complete dismay spreads across his face.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry... I should of remembered that..."

"It's fine." I say. I stare at my heels, worried by the awkward silence that follows.

"Am I interrupting something here?"

I tilt my head up to see Aspen.

"Uh..."

"Nope." cuts in Kent. I like his accent, like a District ten one, but less hilarious, less extreme. My District partner smirks.

"Perrie's a_ very _nice girl, don't you think?"

"Oh shut up." I hiss, elbowing him playfully. Kent, not catching it, beams.

"Yeah." he says enthusiastically. Aspen laughs under his breath. I stamp on his toe, all the while trying not to let Kent see. I gently slapped back, and as a look of confusion passes over Kent's face, I have to swallow back giggles. Snorting, Aspen nudges me. Gloss gives the two of us a disapproving glare. I press my hand over my mouth, only just preventing myself from erupting into laughter.

"You okay, Perrie?" says Theo.

"Fine!" I snicker.

"Oh... Okay, then." Her somewhat weak Capitol accent sends me into another fit of laughter. Choking, I hop into the chariot and send an apologetic glance at Kent. After a shrug, he walks back to his own chariot, waving.

"Calm down!" Growls Gloss. I sober, nodding - though he's the only one who could make me. Loud music starts up, and Aspen literally dives into the chariot as it moves forward. I snigger at his messed up hair and disgruntled expression.

"Just try to grow up!" Cashmere calls after us. I want to giggle, but fight the impulse.

Suddenly, I can't see anything but light. After a split-second, the scene in front of me materialises. Hundreds of thousands of people line the path before me. I have never seen so many in one place. Their bizarre appearances are the least of it. Their screams and calls are what numbs my ears. I see myself on a screen, stunned, shocked, and try to maintain a look of boredom. _Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt_. I think. _Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt..._

"Wave!" I hear a scream from far behind me. Turning my head ever so slightly to the side, I see Theo, standing next to our escort, at the back of the crowds. She must of sprinted to get there so fast. I raise my hand and beam, fluttering my fingers. A few flowers land at my feet. I don't feel favoured. That happens to all career tributes, every year, and normally on a much higher level. A tulip and something genetically created that looks somewhat like a red bluebell isn't exactly amazing.

"Just go with it!" I barely hear Theo's second shout, so faint above all the noise I'm not sure I actually heard it. But I 'just go with it' anyway, laughing and grinning at the Capitol citizens. I see Aspen winking flirtatiously at a ten-year-old. She giggles, whispering to her friend.

"Now that-" I yell over the cheering of the crowd, "-Was going just a bit too far!" Aspen throws back his head and roars with laughter. The Capitol laughs with him. We are the perfect pair of tributes, supportive of the Capitol's values. In their eyes.

Some of the adrenaline that fills my heart with a pounding sensation fades as the music dies, noise evaporates, and the chariot slows to a halt. I lift my chin up so I can see President Snow on a balcony above. For one of the most evil tyrants in Panem, he looks too much like Santa Claus.

"Welcome." He says in a voice I have heard many times before, on a television, but never in person, gravelly with age. He begins a long speech highlighting the tribute's so-called victory, every now and again hinting of the capitol's greatness and generosity. It is almost exactly the same as last year's dreary creation. Finally, with some well-thought-out line that he obviously has pride in, Snow concludes his recitation, giving the ghost of a glance to the woman who murmers orders to the horses pulling the chariots. Just before they, with there glossy coats and graceful strides, turn to head back, I dare to look Snow in the eye. He stares straight back at me, and I feel a pang of fear. It seems like he can see straight through me, sense my unease, and he knows all my secrets, and always will. Like a coward, I break the eye-contact, lowering my gaze. But then, just as a glint, a glimmer, I see him nod. Which is even scarier. It's like he... approves of me? Wants to... use me? Weird. Just weird.

Dismounting from the chariot, faintly noting Theo's arms enclosing me, my euphoria completely fades. Smudges, blurs of contented praise for our success, that it all I can collect. But one thing stands out and jolts me from my gaze. Gloss, Cashmere, a few stylists, Enobaria and Brutus, the District Two mentors, a woman I don't recognize, and the renowned Finnick Odair. Who is even ore handsome in real life than on the television.

Theo releases me, without even saying a goodbye, and with a disgusted but pitiful glance at him, wals away from the group and into the Remake Centre. Diana comes out to meet her, and the two exchange tired conversation, as far I can see.

From behind, Aspen grabs my hand. Caught out, I leap backwards, and attempt to pull away. But he's stronger than he looks. I guess he's in the Hunger games for a reason. Twirling me around, he regards my expression with something like amusement.

"Hey." I chortles, pulling me closer. "They're loving it!" Indeed, many a Capitol citizen is whispering to one another as they glance at us.

"But I'm not." Realising that being defensive isn't working, I give him a pleading glance. "Please?" Wonderfully, it seems to be working beautifully. He carefully and almost fully disguises a look of hesitation on his features, and the Capitol, not excluding Marcus, and most of the prep teams, who can't hear our exchanges, totally misinterpret it. It's all about how your potrayed. Everybody knows that.

"Fine." he mutters. "But you have to walk back with me and look happy."

I spare a fleeting look for Cashmere, who seems almost approving as she observes the two of us, the rest of the Capitol, and in fact SNOW. Who frequently watches me. I don't have a choice. So, furiously trying to keep my eyes from swivelling to the President, I turn towards the doors, never loosening my grip on Aspen. As soon as we are out of sight, I let go and walk away.

But why do it all?

Because I need to keep my life. And for that I need what everyone, slowly, seems to be giving me. That approval.

Approval. Or is it just liking?

Maybe.

**Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm trying to get back into a routine on fanfiction. Review, please! I swear, they will make me write faster. So, any ideas for what should happen in the next chapter? Just PM or review. **

**Love you,**

**Frances.**


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